


A Most Unsuitable Match

by Ekatarinabeisel76



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Embarrassment, Feels, Intervention, M/M, Poor Bilbo, overly involved friends, thorin being a douchebag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekatarinabeisel76/pseuds/Ekatarinabeisel76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, Thorin thought as he glowered across the campfire at the hobbit, is exactly why Dwarf-Hobbit couplings were unheard of and unmentioned. After a chain of misunderstandings, Gandalf, and the dwarves offer to help, and by help  I mean rig every situation so that Bilbo and Thorin have to share the same space until they get along. They just didn't figure on a few other developments coming out of their meddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Most Unsuitable Match~最不匹配组合~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/962885) by [hana0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hana0/pseuds/hana0)



‘This,’ Thorin thought to himself as he glowered across the campfire at the hobbit, ‘is exactly why dwarf-hobbit couplings are unheard of and unmentioned.’

The day had started out quite wonderfully really. Bilbo had made their breakfast – perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs with chunks of cured ham mixed in instead of Bombur’s usual bacon and burnt potato stew (or at least, that was what Bilbo thought it was, he really wasn’t certain though). They had even managed to go a whole hour before stirring up any kind of trouble, and when trouble did stumble upon the company, it didn’t come in the form of orcs, goblins, wargs, or mountain trolls.

No, their first bit of trouble had come when Bilbo tripped and spilled some of his breakfast on Thorin’s boots. The hobbit had of course, stammered a hasty and heartfelt apology to the Dwarf prince, but Thorin seemed content to growl and glare at him from behind his sword, which he was polishing lovingly with a whetstone. While nothing really came of the incident apart from a furiously embarrassed Bilbo blushing crimson straight to his hairline, the subsequent incidences wreaked havoc.

First, Bilbo’s pony had gotten spooked at a thunderclap and bolted. The creature had thrown the poor hobbit clear over Gandalf’s head as he sat astride his own pony, and had proceeded to storm straight through the rest of the company at a gallop. After Bifur and Dwalin had chased the horse down through a half-flooded trench of a ditch and across a slippery, muddy slope, Bilbo had to be lifted back up into his saddle. Thorin mused aloud, and unnecessarily loudly on top of it, that he couldn’t blame the pony. His jest caused a ripple of laughter amongst the dwarves, with only Fili, Kili, Balin, Bofur, Gandalf, and Bilbo abstaining from laughing. Gandalf’s eyes narrowed into reproachful slits aimed at the back of Thorin’s head, and the prince couldn’t suppress a shudder, as though the wizard’s disapproval were enough to make him ill. Balin shook his head slightly at his prince’s actions, but said nothing. Fili, Kili, and Bofur stole occasional glances at each other and Bilbo, trying to ascertain whether he had been injured. Bilbo simply cast his eyes down to his pony’s thick mane, and tried not to complain about the raw ache in his back and the growing lump sprouting on his head, both of which were parting gifts from his hard fall.

A few hours later, another unfortunate incident befell the hobbit. Bilbo had been put in charge of passing out the midday meal, an absolute necessity since they would not stop to eat supper until they had made camp for the night, and the time for that was still hours away. It was the usual ration of stale bread and softening apples. Thorin was the last to get his, and it certainly was not because of any slight from Bilbo – it was simply because Thorin was at the front of the company and Bilbo was at the very back of a long line of hungry dwarves. That alone was enough to irritate Thorin, but when Bilbo lobbed his bread and apple to him, the Dwarf prince gained more cause to be upset. The food sailed over the heads of the company, and struck Thorin right in the back of the head. His mood took a considerably dark turn after that.

While he cursed, “That wretched Halfling” Balin and Dwalin exchanged glances. Then they looked back to everyone else, and the only unconcerned gazes that they found belonged to the ponies and the hobbit. Because there wasn’t much to do about it but push on and follow the prince’s lead, no one said anything for the moment. Everyone let the incident fade as the day’s journey wore one, except for the Bilbo. The hobbit turned his eyes down once more, trying to hide his beat-red face, and perhaps a tear or two. Gandalf feigned that he hadn’t noticed, and offered a silent apology to Belladonna Took, and prayed that she didn’t haunt Thorin Oakenshield. Fili, Kili, and Bofur simply steered their mounts closer to the burglar. They let their support hang in the air unsaid, and Bilbo simply went on riding forward. He thought of Bag End and his garden, of his parent’s portraits hanging above the mantle and his thick leather volumes, and then he wished that could be back there instead of in the middle of some long-forgotten thicket of trees on the way to fight a dragon and reclaim a home for a gaggle of dwarves who neither liked him nor wanted his company.

He did his very best not to cause trouble for the rest of the day, and he managed a good deal better than he ever thought that he could. He kept his head down and his mouth closed, and while it didn’t curry an favor for him, it didn’t seem to upset any of the other members of the company. Thorin however, remained stone-faced and silent.

Indeed, he only spoke again after they had made camp for the night, and it was only to bark, “Get dinner going – quickly Bombur – something other than ham and cabbage soup. Make the Halfling do it if you’re too tired”.

The Took in him reared its un-hobbit-like head in indignation, but Bilbo quashed it quickly. He jumped at the chance to be useful, hoping to redeem himself for the trouble he had caused earlier. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm did not have as far a reach as his exhaustion, and in a blind moment of sheer silly tiredness, he placed his hands directly on the pan that he was using to fry up rabbit, carrots, and chopped potatoes.

“In the name of Old Took!” he swore as he hastily retracted his hands, now throbbing and turning a violent, angry shade of red where they had touched the pan. He tried to forge ahead in his work, though each and every time he picked up the wooden stirring spoon his burnt palm, for it didn’t seem to matter which one he tried, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing.

No one seemed to notice though, and Bilbo was immensely grateful for that. Gandalf was off somewhere doing odd wizardly things, Bombur was resting somewhere, Oin and Gloin were on watch, Ori and Nori were securing the ponies, and everyone else was conversing with Thorin over their map about the route they would take the next day.

“Halfling!” he heard the Prince bellow just as he finished scraping the sizzling contents of the pan into fifteen wooden bowls. “Are you quite done yet?”

Once again, Bilbo suppressed the seething voice of his tookish blood, which demanded respect and common courteousy if nothing else, even from a dwarven prince. He rushed about, delivering Thorin’s meal first to avoid offending him any further, and then taking bowls to everyone else as quickly as he could manage. Finally, he passed the final two bowls to Fili and Kili, who were the first of any of them to look him in the eyes.

“How are you?” Fili asked, trying to look past the hobbit’s down-turned face and wild fringe to meet his eyes.

“We were worried that you might think ill of the company after today.” Kili added, taking the bowls form Bilbo. It was the expected action, but it was mostly a cover for trying to distract Bilbo enough to get him to look at anything other than his feet.

“Oh no, of course not. I’m fine, perfectly fine, better than ever actually.” Bilbo babbled.

At this point, all he really wanted was to put down his bedroll and let the whole horrible day slip into memory like some bad dream. He escaped Fili and Kili’s worried expressions long enough to stumble off to an empty stretch of grassy ground across the campsite, as far away from anyone else as he could get. The hobbit set about getting ready for bed, wolfing down his food and unraveling his bedroll and blanket in record time, and finally curled up on his side with his head pillowed by his bent arm.

Fili and Kili were not to be fooled so easily however. They slipped into the woods silently, and circled to approach the spot where they knew their uncle was holding a meeting to discuss the plans for the next leg of their long journey. As they entered the small clearing, which boasted a carpet of lush, springy grass and had small rocks strewn about it, they caught the gaze of several other members of the company. Balin in particular, seemed quite anxious, followed closely by Bofur. The wizard was nowhere to be found, but neither of them supposed that he was entirely necessary for what was about to happen.

“Ah, Fili, Kili, come join us. We were just going over the route for tomorrow. We’ll be exiting the foothills of the Blue Mountains by this time tomorrow. The goblins will be far behind us.”

“That’s all well and good.” Fili said.

“But we think there’s a more pressing matter to discuss.” Kili finished for him.

Thorin raised one thick, black eyebrow, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And what would that be?” he asked his nephews.

“The hobbit.” They said in unison. 

“Yes.” Thorin said, turning his eyes to the rest of the group in a sweeping gaze. “He is quite a nuisance, isn’t he?”

Some of the dwarves gave quiet, false laughter to match the prince’s chuckle, but the majority either cast their eyes down or stole guilty glances at each other.

“Actually, we do not think so.” Kili said.

“He is doing quite well, all things considered. You are too hard on him.” Fili added.

Their uncle’s gaze turned from tranquil to stormy in an instant. His eyes flashed cold and stony in the moonlit dark of the forest, as he whirled around to bared down on his nephews.

“You think that I am being too hard on him? He nearly cost us a mount today, as well as an hour’s worth of travel on the road. He’s a bungling idiot, and he has no place here.” He turned to look at the rest of the dwarves as he continued. “Does anyone else here think that I was too hard on the hobbit?”

The clearing stayed silent for a long moment. The silence lasted long enough for Thorin to acquire a small smirk, which he directed at his nephews. He turned his attention back to the map, and opened his mouth to speak once more, but was cut off by one voice.

“My friend, I must agree with your nephews.” Balin said in a rush. 

Thorin eyed him cautiously for a moment. While he could not dismiss his opinion as easily as he could his nephews’, this was not something he wanted to get into in front of all of his company. He was about to articulate an invitation to discuss the issue in private, when someone else interrupted him.

“I must also agree.” This time it was Dwalin, and after him came Bofur, then Dori, then Oin and Gloin followed by Bombur, and finally Bifur.

“Very well then.” Thorin spat as majestically as he could manage. “I call this meeting finished.”

The message was unmistakably clear, even if his tone hadn’t made it perfectly obvious that he was in no mood for further conversation. All of the dwarves cleared off, including his nephews and his old friend, leaving him to simmer with his thoughts and the map. After a long while in the calm, still quiet of the night, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or wolf’s howl, Thorin breathed a weary sigh.

“What would you have me do?”

“An apology would be an acceptable placed to start.” Came a firm, distinct voice that Thorin recognized, much to his displeasure.

Gandalf the Grey came to stand beside him, looming over him in his silent deluge of thought.

“Are you here to speak on the hobbit’s behalf as well wizard?” Thorin asked, and he was surprised at the amount of bitter venom in his voice, even as it left his tongue and reached his ears.

“No, Thorin Oakenshield, I am not. I am here simply to remind you that, while Bilbo may not be a one of you, he is equally valuable.” He paused. “And no Took nor Baggins will tolerate anyone speaking on their behalf. Any of them would tell you that they can do it for themselves perfectly well. Nor do they appreciate being made a fool of, I might add.” This last part was delivered with a sharper tone and a narrowed gaze, which Thorin lifted his own hard eyes to meet.

Thorin considered this quietly, “I suppose that can be said of anyone.” His tone was still inscrutable, but it was considerably softer than it had been a few moments ago, and the wizard counted that as a success.

Gandalf gave a nod, and Thorin left to find the hobbit, well aware of what he had better do. Still, when he did get to the campsite, he had absolutely no intention of rousing the hobbit and having a long heartfelt chat about feelings. If any of them thought that he was going to lower himself to that, they had another thing coming. No, he was Prince Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and he did not have sappy conversations with hobbit-burglars with injured feelings and cute golden curls and sweet blue eyes like sapphires from the deepest reaches of Erebor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know AO3 is going to screw up all my nice formatting, and it hurts. Seriously, I've had size 12 times new roman double spaced drilled into my head since third-year.  
> I would like to apologize for any grammatical errors, or any errors at all that might be in this. It's 1:15 and I'm tired but I really wanted to finish this. Unfortunately, that's obviously not going to happen tonight, much to my dismay. So I should just come out and say that there will be at least one more chapter of this fic before it's done, and I am definitely angling for some smut.

Thorin awoke to a silent campsite, which wasn’t an unwelcome thing after the confrontation the night before. Unfortunately, the fact that the silence came from a dearth of company was far less welcome and it gave him no comfort at all. He propped himself up on his elbows and surveyed the empty camp, taking in the smoking pile of logs, the tethered ponies, and the pile of rolled up bedding and packs stacked against each other in a large pile.

Wherever his kin had gone off to, they obviously intended to come back soon. However, he could see from the height of the sun where it hung in the sky that it was well pas dawn, and he had specifically said that they should leave at first light. Perhaps, he thought, they were giving him some space after the events of the day before, and the night that followed it. Though he was more than a little miffed at their careless disregard for his orders, Thorin settled for finding breakfast and clearing away his bedroll, as he could not find anyone to give his opinion to. Unfortunately, he only realized that he had been incorrect in assuming that he was alone after he had made enough noise to wake a dead dragon.

The hobbit was in the clearing too, heaving the heavy packs up over his head and putting them on the mounts. As he watched, Thorin couldn’t help but feel just a little impressed at the stout strength of the Halfling. He stared as Bilbo crossed the campsite over and over again, going back and forth between the mountain of travel packs and the tethered ponies. He felt like he really shouldn’t be watching someone a whole foot shorter than him and half as muscular heaving a month’s worth of provisions of thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, one wizard and sixteen ponies.

The odd stir of emotion wasn’t enough to make him get up from his moderately comfortable perch on a relatively flat rock though. He watched the hobbit sit on the ground, exhaling in an exhausted huff, crumpling like a down tent set up on shoddy timber, pressing his hands together and pulling them apart to reveal a deep scarlet stain smeared across both palms. At first Thorin dismissed it a s a trick of the light. He was, after all, quite far away from the Hobbit. He knew very well how good a dwarf’s vision was, even at such a distance, so he put the theory to bed quickly. After that, he considered the possibility that the rough fabric of the travel bags and the rope had worn down his hands, but that theory breathed its last when the scarlet stain began to drip from Bilbo’s hands onto the ground.

“Burglar!” he called across the clearing. He felt a pang of guilt as he witnessed the hobbit’s grimace at hearing him call his name. He was steadily being pushed towards the unwanted realization that his companions may have been right in saying that he was too hard on the hobbit, and he did not like it. He did not like it at all. He liked it about as much as seeing the Halfling try to hide his bloodied hands behind his waistcoat as he approached.

“Y-yes Thorin?” He asked, suppressing a stutter as the prince padded toward him.

“What have you done to your hands?” He demanded, stopping just a few inches short of colliding with Bilbo.

“It’s nothing, just a scrape really. It’s quite shallow actually.” Bilbo winched as he wrung his hands nervously behind his back. He hoped that his assurances would dissipate the prince’s new found concern, but the pointed steely gaze under a thick raised brow told him otherwise.

“Why don’t you let me judge that, Halfling.”

Slowly and Unwillingly, Bilbo produced his bloody, burnt palms from behind his back, and presented them to Thorin. The prince took his hands in his own, gently turning them to inspect for any other injuries, before placing them palm-up once more to inspect the scrape. The flesh on Bilbo’s otherwise soft palms was pink and raised, and it glistened as burns often do. It wasn’t blistering as far as Thorin could tell, but whatever the hobbit had touched had been quite hot, most likely fire-heated, but tot as hot as any forge-craft. On top of the angry red burns, Bilbo had acquired some cuts, which Thorin surmised were from excessive labor with rough rope and leather bags coupled with burn-weakened skin.

He settled his steely gaze back on Bilbo. He couldn’t reach the hobbit’s eyes however, as Bilbo quite intended. He kept his own eyes hidden behind his mop of shaggy golden curls, and took a very sudden interest in his feet.

“These are no scrapes, Burglar.” He said, and it came out much harsher than he had meant it to. 

Bilbo simply nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and even if he had, he wasn’t sure that his constricted throat would allow for any words.

“Come on then.” Thorin coaxed. “Just sit down and we’ll-“ he was going to say ‘get someone to bandage these’, but upon looking around the campsite, he remembered that he was the only one around apart from sixteen ponies with cloven hooves. “-bandage this up.” He finished, turning his gaze back to the Halfling, who was still studying the ground.

Bilbo obeyed, and let Thorin press comfrey and slippery elm to his palms and wrap them in thick gauze. As he inspected his work one last time for faults or flaws, Thorin looked up just in time to catch a flash of brilliant blue eyes, and a face flushed so red that it looked rather like a spring beet.

“There you are.” He said, running his hands over the gauze just one more time, just to check it for security, not to get the hobbit to look up again. No, that was not why he was doing it, not in the slightest. “You are lucky to travel in the company of smiths, Halfling, We are quite well prepared for burns, if we know about them.” 

The hobbit flushed again, right to his ears and his hairline, and Thorin had to resist a mighty urge to smile. Why, he wondered, did hobbits bother to get to so upset over little things? For a folk who prided themselves on their homes and gardens, taking such a thing as burn so seriously seemed quite out of character. Perhaps the answer was that he was wrong about hobbits after all, and they were indeed far too serious. Or maybe, their burglar was just odd, even for one of his own kind.

“You won’t be able to hold reins with those, which means you’ll have to share a mount with someone.” His words had almost seemed fond, friendly even, until Thorin, in a rush to present a good face to the hobbit, added, “We can’t risk you falling off your mount again like yesterday.”

If Thorin noticed how particularly crestfallen Bilbo looked at this, he didn’t let on. As Gandalf and the other dwarves watched from a wind-cut ledge of grassy slope a few yards above the campsite, they watched Thorin leave Bilbo to sit by himself as he stamped out the smoldering logs of their campfire.

As red sparks shot from the dimly glowing coals to fall on the ground and die out in the chilly morning air, Gandalf turned to the dwarves.

“Well, it seems fate has conspired to do the work for us.” He said. Balin nodded in eager agreement.

“I don’t see how this makes our job any easier.” Gloin argued. “The prince will not want to share a mount with the hobbit.”

“It’s really not proper.” Dwalin added.

“And you two-“ He indicated Fili and Kili. “-know better than anyone that we cannot force him to do anything he does not want to.”

“Then we must take the decision out of his hands!” Balin countered, waving his short little arms in exasperation at his brother.

“Yes.” Fili agreed. “We can’t share because we will be scouting ahead, and he would ask us first of any of you.”

“Bofur would be next, but he’ll just have to take an extra pack or two to make that impossible.”

“Bombur won’t be able to share a pony.” Bofur added helpfully.

“He doesn’t know anyone else quite that well.” Kili mused aloud.

“The wizard is obviously out.” Nori supplied. “He’s barely able to fit a pony by himself, not that the Halfling weighs much.”

“There it is then.” Ori said. “The rest of us will simply mount too quickly for him to ask.”

“No, we can’t mount that fast and he has nothing to distract him.” Bofur said, shaking his head.

“Then I will talk to him about the hobbit, and you all will mount then.” Balin supplied. “I will either persuade him to take the hobbit himself, or I will stall long enough for you all to find reasons why you can’t take him.”

All agreed on the plan, the dwarves started to file out, off of the ledge and down to the tree where the ponies were tethered. As they reached their horses and saw that Balin had already steered Thorin off somewhere where he couldn’t see them, Kili turned to his brother.

“I don’t like this.” He said. “Perhaps Bilbo will feel like we’re passing him off.” He said. Fili nodded.

“I know, but they need to be able to tolerate each other.” He paused, and then added as he pulled himself up into his saddle. “And who knows, perhaps something good will come of our meddling?”

Across the campsite, Balin inquired after their burglar’s health, trying to stall long enough for everyone to mount up.

“He burnt his hands, then he stayed quiet about it like a fool the whole night, and loaded up the ponies on top of that.” Thorin told him.

“How on earth did he manage to burn himself?” Balin asked, feigning incredulity. Trying to look surprised at hearing of the hobbits injury was hard enough, and if they didn’t hurry up, he might have a heart attack at all this deceit and meddling.

“He didn’t say.” Thorin answered, and then paused for a while. Balin was about to ask him another question, as he thought that Thorin had sensed that something was afoot, but then Thorin continued. “I’m quite sure it happened when he was cooking supper last night; he shouldn’t be left alone to that again.”

“Surely you’re not complaining about the quality of the food?” Balin asked, only partially in jest. Bombur was a very good cook indeed, but Bilbo surpassed him in a number of ways, and no one had complained about last night’s meal in the slightest.

“No, of course not.” Thorin replied. “I simply mean that he shouldn’t be left alone to do it.”

He only realized how odd the words sounded after they had escaped his mouth, after they had leapt off his tongue and escaped from the iron bars of his teeth. Of course, even if he hadn’t realized how odd they sounded, Balin’s fleeting expression of surprise would have been more than sufficient to tell him.

“He won’t be able to ride by himself.” Thorin added hastily, trying to cover his emotions. They were only laid bare for just a moment – surely he hadn’t let that much of himself slip. “He’ll need to ride with someone for today’s leg of the journey.” It seemed redundant, but repeating himself in small permutations seemed less likely to lead to humiliation than trying to say anything new, or Gods forbid, what he really wanted to say.

Balin, seeing his golden, glimmering, gleaming opportunity to intercede on the behalf of the group, was just about to interject, but Thorin never gave him the time to. He didn’t know when the thought barged into his mind, or how it had bypassed all of his precautions against personal humiliation, but it turned from thought to words before he could stop it.

“He will ride with me.” The prince declared majestically, and he immediately turned on his heel to prepare his mount.

When Thorin walked the pony over to Bilbo, the hobbit was still examining his feet and the grass-studded clearing. He looked down at him rather expectantly, and finally gave a loud, and in Bilbo’s mind quite unnecessary, clearing of his throat. Thorin finally gave up on subtlety, and tried a more direct approach.

“You will be riding with me Halfling.” 

It was an absolute statement, and the tone that carried it offered no chance for refusal. Unfortunately, that tone had never been pitted against the will of a Took.

Bilbo’s head shot up in alarm, with his eyes wide and his face once again flushing scarlet in his embarrassment. As the blush blossomed over the hobbit’s face, Thorin struggled not to be amused. He had to remind himself that this was a very serious quest, with a pressing time-schedule already set, and that he could not afford to wait on the hobbit to stutter out a thank you and blush from head to toe.

“That’s really quite fine. I think I can manage to ride on my own today. My hands aren’t that bad, really-“ Bilbo wasn’t giving thanks, rather spilling excuses. Thorin should not have found it at all amusing; he had no time to indulge hobbits, no matter how stout and homely they hobbit might be.

In one swift motion, Thorin reached down with one arm and hoisted Bilbo up into the saddle, settling the hobbit in front of him. Bilbo found himself nestled quite, and slightly uncomfortably, close to the dwarf prince. He could feel Thorin’s bulk close to him, pressing warmth into his back and altogether pinning him in the saddle.

He tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, and found it impossible. He finally gave up after Thorin clasped a hand to his hip and ordered him to stop in a voice so odd that Bilbo had to fight a strong urge to look back at his face. He couldn’t do any such thing though, as Thorin had already told him to stop wriggling around and now there was something decidedly hard settling against his lower back.

He dismissed it as some piece of Dwarven finery or battle-garb muffled by his travelling clothes, most likely a belt buckle, and tried to reign in the maddening blush creeping up his face like strangle weed. He did muse, that if it was a belt buckle, it was in fact a rather large one.

He didn’t catch the knowing, sly smiles that Fili and Kili flashed their uncle as they rode up alongside him before riding ahead to scout out the route. Thorin simply rolled his eyes and offered them a fond smile that missed the mark and landed somewhere between a smirk and grimace. It was still appropriate though, and he found himself pressing forward ever so slightly, sometimes to correct the hobbit’s posture or to growl advice in his ear - because he really was an awful rider, that much was obvious now - but it was mostly a measure to eliminate the temptation of looking down at the pert rear-end splitting wonderfully over his wide saddle.

If the thought that offering to share his mount with the Halfling had been an absolutely awful idea ever crossed the prince’s mind, it died a quick death.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the last chapter! It’s been immensely fun writing this, if a little taxing at times. These two are fun to play with, and I’m definitely not done with them yet – I’ve still got prompts to fill for them. Just to appease the Copyright gods I’ll make this very clear – They are not mine, I am just borrowing them for the purpose of humorous smut. I also apologize for any errors in this, I have very limited energy after writing this and I’m going to have to force myself to proof read it before posting it. I would just post it immediately, but I love you all too much to subject you to bad grammar and poor spelling.  
> That being said, I would like to thank everyone who has read this enjoyed it. You guys are the ones who make writing fanfiction worthwhile.

After a long day of riding with Thorin at his back, barking orders in that gruff, oddly strained voice, pressing forward and digging his blasted belt buckle into his backside, Bilbo had had quite enough of pony riding, adventuring, and most of all, more than anything else, he had endured quite enough of Thorin Oakenshield. 

As soon as the prince brought his pony to a halt after bellowing yet more orders in Bilbo’s ear, he attempted to slide out of the saddle, as he was more than eager to get down from the mount and to begin cooking supper. If nothing else, it would provide him some escape from that wretched overgrown prat of a dwarf. Bilbo halted those thoughts as quickly as he could, before they could lead him somewhere uncivilized and Tookish. Unfortunately, they resumed their path and pace tenfold when Thorin dismounted, then immediately turned around and offered his hand to Bilbo. 

He was trying to help him down from the pony. He had forced him into sharing the pony for the entire day’s ride, ignoring his assurances that he really was fit to ride alone despite his hands, although he knew that was not true. Why, he had hoisted him up by the back of his waistcoat like some scruffy little Brandybuck lad from Bywater, as if he could not have gotten on the pony himself! As if he needed someone bigger and stronger to do everything for him! And then he had the sheer audacity to try and hoist him down from the mount like he was some she-hobbit.

No. No sir, absolutely not. Bilbo would not let it stand.

He only offered a curt ‘Thank you’ after Thorin had set him on the ground, and he immediately set about preparing supper. His anger did not dissipate in the slightest as he chopped carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms for the stew. After the three rabbits that Fili and Kili had caught were cleaned and added in, Bilbo left Bombur to divvy up the servings and sound the call for supper. He was still quite upset, and he didn’t feel much like engaging in conversation, or eating, and he dreaded the very thought of encountering Prince Thorin Oakenshield again. The last one didn’t surprise him, but a hobbit not wanting food or friendly company or conversation was positively unheard of. It was a testament to just how much the prince had injured his pride through the course of one day’s worth of journeying.

He slinked off into the woods as quiet as a mouse, leaving the thirteen dwarves, one wizard, and sixteen ponies to enjoy their supper while he sought out a nice, quiet, peaceful place to be alone. After a short stumbling meander through the woods, tripping over rocks, roots, and his own feet, he spotted a small cave formed by large, heavy stones that had fallen from the mountainside so long ago that moss and vines grew over them. 

It was very small, but quite cozy for a single hobbit on a quest for solitude. The rock walls were cool, if a little dirty. He winced a little bit at the thought of soiling his waistcoat, but then he supposed that it didn’t matter much, as it was already in dire need of cleaning.

As Bilbo settled into his peaceful, quiet little cave, surrounded by chilly stone and his own thoughts, he had no idea that the rest of the company were well aware of where he was, or that all of them had made sure to tell Thorin precisely how to get there.

And when the Dwarf prince did appear at the opening of the cave, Bilbo was quite horrified. He had sunk so deep within his own thoughts of pleasant conversation back home in his front garden about pleasant things with pleasant hobbits, that he didn’t realize that anyone was approaching, least of all Thorin, until he was standing in the cave, glaring down at him quite tetchily.

“What are you doing in here?” Thorin demanded. He looked very cross, but his tone was a bit softer than usual, and that gave Bilbo a small ray of help. Unfortunately, that tiny bit of hope was extinguished by the Prince’s demand, rudeness, and tone of voice. There was no stopping the Took in him this time.

“If you must know, I was seeking solitude.” He replied bluntly, as he raised his gaze to meet Thorin’s eyes. He tried to look defiant, but it came across more as petulant than anything else. He struggled to maintain eye contact, partially because he was really quite uncomfortable with Thorin blocking the only way in or out of the cave, not to mention that having one hobbit and one dwarf in the cave was severely stretching the maximum occupant capacity, but mostly because he had to crane his neck so much to look at him. 

“From whom do you seek solitude?” Thorin demanded, wondering if some other member of the party had teased him over sharing a pony, or for being clumsy enough to burn both of his hands in the first place. However, his theories were shattered by Bilbo’s reply.

“From you.” Bilbo shot back, and this time he knew he sounded petulant, but that wasn’t enough to deter him.

Thorin’s eyes flashed vibrantly for a moment. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched momentarily, and his lips formed a firm, thin, line as he responded.

“And why are you hiding from me?”

“I am not hiding.” Bilbo insisted. “I am simply tired of company and want to be alone.”

Thorin surged forward in an instant, and grasped Bilbo’s bandaged hands, and pulled him forward into his lap as he sat down in the cave. As Bilbo struggled, trying to free himself from the oppressive clutches of Thorin Oakenshield, currently the bane of his existence, Thorin ignored his persistent protests in favor of unwrapping the gauze around his hands.

“This is exactly why you can’t be alone Master Baggins.” He said gruffly, and with his lips far too close to Bilbo’s ear for the hobbit to be comfortable. “It’s my responsibility to make sure that these-“ he gripped Bilbo’s hands tighter as if to indicate them, “-are properly looked after.”

“I do not need a nurse maid you hulking mass of brawn!” Bilbo shouted, still not giving up on escaping Thorin’s firm grasp. “I can very well take care of myself! I do not need you to steer a pony for me, or to settle me in the saddle or on the ground, or to do anything for me. Quite frankly, Mister Oakenshield – “

Before Bilbo could finished his tirade, a rather unsettling rumble started up all around them; the rocks in the cave walls were shaking, the ground ran wild with tremors, and Bilbo did not protest in the slightest when Thorin’s grip moved to his waist and became decidedly tighter. Thorin was on his feet, clutching Bilbo to his chest as he stumbled toward the entrance of the cave, when a particularly large boulder slid across the portal.

Thorin hit the ground, crushing Bilbo between his own weight and the firm floor of the makeshift cave.

“Will you please get off of me?” The Hobbit demanded.

“Stop your wriggling!” Thorin barked. ‘I am trying to keep you safe.”

“Did you hear anything I have just said?” Bilbo retorted, shouting once again, and directly in Thorin’s ear. “I have had quite enough you and your wretched, haughty, archaic-“

Thorin pressed forward suddenly and covered the hobbit’s lips with his own. It was a very effective measure, he found, as Bilbo not only ceased any and all annoying wriggling, but also stopped dead in his rant. Thorin, though slightly offended and very irritated with the Halfling at this point, had absolutely no desire to hear the hobbit finish his statement. He found the quiet, complacent Bilbo much more inviting than the aloof, wordy one he had previously been dealing with. The dwarf pulled away after a moment, and they stayed like that for what felt like the longest time. Their breath intermingled and hung in the air between them, their eyes met and held each other’s gaze as they waited for the tension to subside, but it never did. It simply piled higher and higher until it burst like a soap bubble.

“How on earth can you, of all the people in this company, call me haughty?” Thorin breathed a laugh as he eased his weight off the hobbit.

“Have you ever had to deal with yourself in an extrinsically?” Bilbo asked him, also laughing ever so slightly as Thorin rolled to the side and stood up. “You can be quite annoying.”

Thorin removed his coat and set it on the ground, and then scooped Bilbo up and settled them both on the coat. He hoisted Bilbo up, bearing the hobbit’s weight on his thighs as he knelt on the garment. He pressed rough kisses and playful nips down Bilbo’s throat and across the length of his collarbone as he answered.

“I’ll have to put that on my list of things to do, right below dealing with our sneaky, meddling company fellows.”  
Bilbo looked at him quizzically as Thorin pulled back and set about removing his waistcoat.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean that they were ever so hopeful in helping me find you, but none of them accompanied me, and then all of the sudden we get stuck in a cave that has reason to be here, seeing as here in foothills and not mountains.”

“You think they set us up?” Bilbo asked, incredulous of this idea.

“In short, Yes.” Thorin replied as he tossed Bilbo’s coat and vest aside and settled back on top of him. “But that doesn’t mean-“ he paused to capture the shorter man’s lips just one more time. That was it, he’d stop after just one more. They really had no time for this. There were plans to make for the next day’s journey, and other very important things that he had to attend to. Unfortunately, Thorin couldn’t place any of those things higher than attending to the burglar – his burglar. “-that we can’t turn it to our advantage.”

A smile burst across Bilbo’s features, just as a scarlet flush began to creep up his neck and over his face. As if to emphasize exactly what it was that he was suggesting, Thorin snapped his hips forward into the hobbit’s groin. Bilbo groaned loudly, and immediately set himself to removing the dwarf’s heavy belt. As soon as he freed the clasp form the leather, Thorin reared up onto his knees, loomed over him, and tore his tunic and shirt over his head. Bilbo was too busy staring at the belt, realizing that it didn’t have a belt buckle at all, to rake his eyes over the well muscled chest, riddled with scattered scars and decorated by a swatch of thick, dark hair that trailed all the way down to the laces of Thorin’s breeches.

And then the breeches were off and Bilbo came face to face with the fact that there was no belt buckle. It wasn’t a belt buckle. Oh dear. Old Took forgive him, it was not a belt buckle at all.  
Thorin didn’t seem to care in the slightest that his erection was pressing forward, demanding attention and causing Bilbo considerable mental anguish and distress. He was too busy pressing his lips to the hobbit’s chest, taking skin between his teeth and laving at a nipple here and there as he pulled the hobbit’s trousers down and threw them somewhere, probably somewhere near where Bilbo’s sanity had fled to.

“I don’t want you to get the impression that I do this often.” Bilbo panted, trying to regain some sense of just what exactly they were doing. Any hope of that died when Thorin dipped his tongue along the line formed by his delicate hipbone.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had much opportunity for sex with dwarves in caves.” Thorin laughed before he took the sensitive flesh behind Bilbo’s ear between his teeth and sucked.

“What I’m trying to say-“ Thorin chose that moment to cup him with one hand and entwine the other in his hair.  
Bilbo wished he could articulate some response other than moans, groans, and gasps, but Thorin didn’t seem to need words to understand what he was trying to say. He rose up, bearing his weight on his elbows, one on either side of Bilbo’s head, and leveled a soft, intense look at the hobbit.

“I know what it is that you mean, Halfling.” He said softly. “And I won’t hurt you.”

Bilbo felt one slicked finger slide into him. He wondered when Thorin had found the time to coat his fingers in oil, but that was a distant thought. Everything other than Thorin, and touch, and taste, and Thorin was pushed to the farthest corners of his mind. There was nothing outside of the two of them, in the cave, locked in by a meddling wizard and twelve meddling dwarves.

“Thorin…” Bilbo whispered, as his hips surged upwards, inadvertently nudging the larger man’s erection with his own. Thorin groaned, the sound was ripped from somewhere deep in his chest, and Bilbo could almost feel it in the further of the single finger gently pushing into him, stretching him with the patience of a saint.

But Thorin did not have the patience of a saint. He had very little patience at all, and what little he had was being stretched very thin as he took in the sight of Bilbo, thrusting upwards with his legs bent at the knees and hooked around his waist. He added a second finger, and then a third after Bilbo began to mewl softly.

“Now. Please Thorin, now.” He pleaded, biting his wrist to keep from crying out as Thorin ran one rough thumb over his length.

The larger man nodded, and took his cock in hand. He pressed the very tip in first, and then slowly pressed his weight forward, keeping his lover’s face in clear view as he entered him. Despite his best efforts, the hobbit was still very tight, and he grimaced a little when Thorin drove in to the hilt. Thorin paused for a moment, to let his burglar adjust to the sensation, to the fullness of having him inside of him. He took Bilbo’s cock in his hand and pumped slowly, and he made soothing noises as he dragged his free hand over the hobbit’s smooth belly.

“I’m fine.” Bilbo said. “You can keep going. I’m alright. Just-“ he paused, heaving a breathy moan as Thorin rolled his hips. “Just move. Please!”  
Thorin obeyed. He kept his thrusts shallow at first, not wanting to cause his lover any tears or pain. Once he felt the burglar’s muscles relax around him, he let himself drive deeper, grind the head of his cock into Bilbo’s prostate and aimed for it with every thrust. 

Neither of them lasted long, but Thorin did come first. It was something that would normally bother him, particularly when his lover was so inexperienced, but he had been aroused for most of the day, forced to stare at the temptation Bilbo’s enticing rear with no escape. After he recovered from his orgasm, with tiny tremors still wracking his body and small flashes of light bursting to life behind his eyes, he settled himself between the burglar’s legs and took his cock in his mouth.

The stream of mashed words and pleas that issued from Bilbo’s mouth was short lived, but Thorin reached up with the hand not keeping him balanced and rubbed a small pattern across Bilbo’s chest. He came quickly, spilling himself in Thorin’s mouth just as Thorin had bathed his insides with his seed a moment ago. A strangled cry issued from his throat, just as Thorin dragged himself up to lay beside him on his coat. He pulled Bilbo to him, clutching him to his naked side, and they settled into the quiet dark of the cave.

Bilbo fell asleep first, with his head settled into the crook of Thorin’s neck and one slim arm thrown across his lover’s broad chest. Thorin stayed awake, with his fingers entwined in Bilbo’s and his free hand tracing familiar patterns into the hobbit’s lower back, up his spine and across the breadth of his shoulder blades. He was completely and utterly relaxed. Nothing in the world seemed wrong, and nothing seemed to exist outside of the two of them in their tiny cave.

Even the astonished expressions plastered across the faces of the rest of the company did nothing to dampen his spirits. Ori, Nori, Dori, and Oin turned beet red. Balin, Gloin, and Bombur shook their heads, but they didn’t seem disapproving. Gandalf simply smiled, keeping his mirthful eyes hidden under the brim of his tattered hat. Fili, Kili, Bofur, Bifur, and Dwalin however, seemed ecstatic, and to Thorin’s slight alarm, very enthusiastic.


End file.
